


Not Alone

by likethenight



Category: X-Men Evolution
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 15:56:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethenight/pseuds/likethenight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rogue doesn't want anyone to know it's her birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in about 2004 as birthday fic for s-star and dk_faerie; I don't know if they're here, but if they are, this is still for them. Written to the soundtrack of Bernard Butler's album _People Move On_ , and in one of those weird moments of synchronicity, the song _Not Alone_ just seemed to fit perfectly. Shameless Rogue/Gambit fluff; vaguely follows on from [Just Felt Like a Walk](http://archiveofourown.org/works/420655), and features a rather sappy, fangirlish nod to one of my favourite moments from the original X-Men animated series.

Rogue hasn't told anyone about her birthday. She doesn't want the surprise party that Jean and Kitty will feel honour-bound to organise; she doesn't want to go to the movies or the mall, eat ice-cream or go shopping. She's afraid that if she mentions it, it'll be tempting fate, and Mystique will turn up to wish her many happy returns. Mystique...Raven. Not Momma, not now. Not ever again.

So she's kept quiet. Mostly she doesn't regret it, but there's a tiny voice inside her whispering about how lonely it'll be on her birthday when nobody knows, and nobody cares. She ignores it, pushes it away, hardening her heart still further. She doesn't want friends, not when she can't allow anyone to get too close. If she's going to spend the rest of her life alone, she might as well start here - and what difference will it make if it's her birthday? 

It's just another school day, she reminds herself when the alarm goes off on the morning of her birthday, just another dull old day of classes and homework. She sits up in bed, rubbing her eyes, getting up the energy to head for the bathroom, and is astonished to see a single red rose lying on top of the covers. She picks it up, turns it over, but there's no clue as to where it's come from, who's left it there. No thorns, she notices idly, every single one's been carefully removed. Puzzled, she goes to the bathroom and puts it in a glass of water, leaving it on her dressing table, next to the mirror. She ignores Kitty's curious look and goes to have her shower and get dressed.

She can't help stealing glances at the rose while she's sat in front of the mirror, putting on her makeup. A tiny smile creeps across her face, almost despite herself; she has to admit that it's nice not to be completely forgotten, even if she's suspicious as all hell about what's going on. 

There are more roses throughout the day, one in her book bag, one in her locker, one dropped in front of her as she sits alone at lunch outside, though when she looks around there is nobody there.

She has her suspicions, but she doesn't dare think about them, in case she's setting herself up for a fall (not that she cares, of course, it means nothing to her, she's only carrying that damn Queen of Hearts in her wallet because she couldn't think of a better place for it). It's probably one of the boys teasing her, Kurt or Evan or someone, they've found out somehow and they're trying to wind her up. 

She tells herself that so many times during the afternoon that she really is genuinely surprised when another rose falls in front of her as she walks under a tree on her way home. She stops, picks it up, looks around; nobody on the street, no-one to see her being silly and sentimental as she clutches the thornless stem tightly between shaking fingers. There is a soft sound behind her, and she closes her eyes as she turns around, opening them to see the one person she'd been oh-so-secretly hoping was behind all this. She should snap at him, she knows, but all that comes out is a whispered "How did you know?"

He shrugs, smiles. "I have my ways, ma chère."

That's all the answer she's going to get out of him, she knows, and unusually for her she decides not to push it. It's enough, today, to accept that he's done something just for her, gone to not inconsiderable trouble to make her happy, and for once she truly is. She smiles up at him, not wanting to move or break the spell, and he lifts a hand to smooth her hair out of her face, carefully using the middle two fingers clad in those strangely mutilated gloves, first and little fingers bared, middle and ring fingers covered. 

"Thank you," she whispers, meaning much more than just a thank-you for the roses, or the thought, or any of it, and before she's lost her courage she reaches up on tiptoe, places her gloved hand over his mouth and presses a kiss to her knuckles. She feels his lips move as he kisses her palm, and she takes her hand away again, quickly, suddenly embarrassed and blushing beneath her pale makeup. She half turns away, but he catches her arm and turns her back to face him, and there is a note of warmth in his voice when he speaks. 

"No, chère. You come with me for a while. Unless you've got somewhere better to be?" He raises his eyebrows, and she has to stifle a girlish giggle as she shakes her head and allows him to lead her away up the street towards the park. 

They sit on a bench, eating ice-cream and talking, and eventually Rogue finds herself settled against him, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her. She feels unaccountably comfortable and, yes, happy, and she realises that she's not alone after all. She lets him walk her home, after darkness has fallen, and they stand at the gates to the mansion, unwilling or unable to say goodnight. She squeezes his fingers, feeling the strength in them through the fabric, and she wants nothing more than to peel off the gloves, touch him properly, kiss him with no barrier. She feels tears prickle her eyes, unexpected, unwanted, and he tips her chin up with those two gloved fingers, bends to whisper almost against her skin, just a breath separating them.

"Don't cry, chère. It'll be all right, you'll see."

And she looks into those uncanny eyes, burning red and midnight black, and she wonders whether maybe he might be right after all. Raising her hand, she puts her fingers over his lips again, slipping her other arm around his neck as she presses another kiss to her fingers. She feels a shiver that has nothing to do with the chilly evening air as his arms go around her, holding her close and safe as he kisses her back, slow and lingering and utterly magical. They reluctantly pull apart, breathless, and he smiles down at her. "You'll see," he says again, and she smiles back, suddenly filled with hope and unfamiliar joy. She started the day thinking she had nobody, but now she thinks that one person might just be all she needs.


End file.
